


Care for Me, As I've Never Known

by lavenderlotion



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Bad Friend Scott McCall (Teen Wolf), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Good Peter Hale, Implied/Referenced Torture, Light Angst, Light Flirting, M/M, Pre-Slash, Translation Available
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-27
Updated: 2019-02-27
Packaged: 2019-11-06 08:36:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17936444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavenderlotion/pseuds/lavenderlotion
Summary: “Why...why did you offer me the bite?” Stiles asked quietly, the cover of night and the hum of the Jeep’s engine giving him courage he wouldn’t usually have.Peter hummed thoughtfully, taking a turn smoothly. “That is quite the question you’re asking. I’m not sure the answer is one you would be happy to hear.”





	Care for Me, As I've Never Known

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lostwithoutmyanchor (mysourwolf)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mysourwolf/gifts).



> Very quickly wrote this today as a Pinch Hit for Lost. I really hope you enjoy it <3
> 
> beta'd by the amazing [AuguriesofInnocence](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuguriesofInnocence)!
> 
> Check out a Russian translation of this fic [here](https://ficbook.net/readfic/8022496)!

Stiles took a deep breath and let it tumble out of him through lungs that ached. He closed his eyes, ignoring the way his face stung, and turned away from where Lydia had used the power of true love to cure Jackson. Or something. Whatever, it wasn't like Stiles cared to begin with. It wasn't like he'd been in love with Lydia for years, and had been forced to drive her to this godforsaken warehouse, only to put her in danger.

It wasn't like he had been terrified of what would happen to her, and it wasn't like she had cared about anything other than Jackson since they were nine.

He turned to Scott, watching as his best friend trailed after the girl whose Grandfather was responsible for his split lip and his black eye and his bruised cheek. Scott didn't even spare him a glance, eyes only for Allison, just as they had been for the last handful of months. Stiles ignored the way his chest twisted, telling himself the twinging was from the bruise that was shaped like Gerard's boot that sat in the middle of his chest.

He opened the door to his Jeep, flinching as he took in the damage done to the hood. Driving through a fucking  _ wall  _ was certainly not going to make it run any smoother than it had, and he had to close his eyes and take another deep breath to brace against the thought of just how much the mechanic’s bill was going to be. 

"Well you’ve certainly looked better, darling." Stiles jumped, his heart skyrocketing until it thundered in his ears. Fear crawled up his belly and wrapped around his chest, making it harder to breathe than it already had been. He turned slowly, keeping his eyes closed while he sent up a silent prayer that  the voice didn’t belong to who he thought. 

Yeah. He'd never much believed in God anyway. 

"What do you want, Peter?" Stiles asked, resigned. His throat still hurt from how he had screamed while the electricity keeping Boyd and Erica from healing had been pushed through his body.

"My identity back. Access to my bank accounts. A better shopping center than the disgrace which is Beacon Hills Mall. My family to still be alive." Stiles levelled him with the best glare he could manage, crossing his arms over his chest and wincing at the pressure that it applied to his ribs. "Oh, you mean currently?"

“Yes, Peter, what do you want right now,” Stiles snapped. Exhaustion was starting to creep in, no longer delayed by the adrenaline that had been pumping through his veins. 

“I would like to drive you home.”

Stiles blinked, mentally replaying what Peter had just said, then he blinked again when it still made no sense. “What?”

“You are in no shape to drive, sweetheart, and since there is no one else left, I’m afraid I’m your only option for a safe trip home.”

Stiles was shaking his head before Peter had even finished speaking but fell still as Peter’s words finally sunk in. He looked around, realizing with a distant sort of dismay that he had, in fact, been left alone in a warehouse. With Peter. Who... 

“Wait a minute, how are you not dead?” 

Peter smile turned into something filthy, making Stiles’ heart rate pick up with something other than fear. He willfully ignored it, forcing his gaze from Peter’s lips to his eyes—which were such a vibrant blue that staring into them wasn’t any better. Peter spread his arms out, palms up, and said, “That, my darling boy, is a trade secret.”

Stiles huffed at the endearment, but didn’t say anything against it. He didn’t like them, he told himself firmly, hoping he’d believe it. “You know what?” Stiles snapped, voice laced with his anger. “Fine.”

“Fine?” The way Peter’s brow raised in a smirk was not appealing. 

“Fine. You can drive me home. After the night I’ve had, you could do your worst and it wouldn’t even register.”

Peter’s face softened, though he said nothing. Rather, he inclined his head to the side and held up his hand. “Keys, if you will?” he asked kindly. Stiles didn’t say anything as he handed them over and remained silent while Peter put a hand to the small of his back and guided him to the passenger side. Peter opened the door for him, and Stiles felt utterly ridiculous when his heart fluttered. “Up.”

“Dog jokes?” Stiles asked, chuckling as Peter’s brow raised again. “I’m impressed.”

“I do aim to please,” Peter assured him, and then closed the door more gently than Stiles had ever bothered closing the Jeep’s doors before. 

He watched Peter walk back around the Jeep, ignoring everything he felt as his eyes traced down the man’s frame. In truth, Stiles had no idea how he felt about Peter being back. He’d had nightmares about the Alpha, sure, but never about  _ Peter _ . Peter was a man whose family had been burned alive around him and had hardly lived through it himself. He was someone who had experienced so much evil, and it only made sense that he’d seeked revenge. 

If he was being honest with himself, Stiles would probably do that same thing if someone went after his dad. 

Peter climbed into the Jeep and Stiles kept his eyes firmly to himself. Looking at Peter made him feel off, wrongfooted, and he didn’t like it. He listened as Peter started up the Jeep and slowly backed out. The car made a horrible grinding noise, and Stiles flinched as a few pieces of wood fell from the hood and onto the cement floor. He said nothing as Peter started to drive, watching as the warehouse district slowly melded into the beginnings of town. 

After several minutes, the silence was more than Stiles could handle.

“So, what exactly are you doing back?” Stiles asked, picking at the skin of his cuticle. His hands were folded up in his lap, but his fingers refused to stop moving. 

“I found being dead didn’t quite suit me,” Peter drawled, and Stiles chanced a glance over at Peter to find him watching the road, one hand on the wheel and the other on the gear stick. 

“I meant back in Beacon Hills. Why are you back in town?” 

“Let’s say I have...obligations that I intend to keep,” Peter told him, sparing Stiles a glance before looking back at the road. Stiles looked down at his hands, his face heating up as a thought crossed his mind. 

“Why...why did you offer me the bite?” Stiles asked quietly, the cover of night and the hum of the Jeep’s engine giving him courage he wouldn’t usually have. 

Peter hummed thoughtfully, taking a turn smoothly. “That is quite the question you’re asking. I’m not sure the answer is one you would be happy to hear.”

Stiles sunk back into his seat, his mind whirling. He had done research, so much research, after that night. When the internet hadn’t been able to decide on what it meant or if it ever meant anything to begin with, he’d gone to Derek. As it turned out, a bite on the wrist  _ did _ mean something; Stiles wasn’t sure if he was ready to hear Peter confirm what Stiles already knew.

In the end, he said nothing, so the rest of the drive passed in silence. When Peter pulled into his driveway, Stiles was expecting him to get out, but instead the man removed the keys from the ignition and turned to face him in the small cab. 

“Have you dressed any of your wounds?”

Stiles blinked, leaning back a little as he processed Peter’s question. “Of course,” he said, although he felt his heart skip with the lie he was telling. 

Peter said nothing, but got out of the car and rounded the Jeep. He opened Stiles’ door and stood there, expectantly. After a moment of staring Stiles got out, his cheeks heating when Peter once again placed a hand to the small of his back. They stopped at the front door, and Stiles squeaked, very embarrassingly, when Peter’s hand slid under his t-shirt to press against his skin.

He was opening his mouth to say something, when the ache in his bones began to lessen, pain  _ draining _ away into the warmth of Peter’s hand. He shivered, his body finally relaxing. It felt like the greatest relief after the tightly wound pain he had been bracing against all the way home. He dropped his head forward against the front door as Peter stepped closer, his body heat seeping under Stiles’ skin and warming him up. 

“Better, sweetheart?”

“You don’t need to do that,” Stiles whispered. “I’m fine. It’s not even that bad and I can take care of myself.”

“Darling, if you believe for a second that I think you’ve dressed a single cut, you’re sorely mistaken,” Peter told him. His tone made it sound like he was  _ scolding _ him, and Stiles flushed. “I  _ am _ going to come inside and I  _ am _ going to make sure you’re alright.”

Stiles ducked his head further, suppressing the ridiculous urge to cry that those words brought on. Instead of thinking about how foreign it felt to be cared for, he let them both inside. Peter trailed after him up to his bedroom, his hand never leaving Stiles’ back. They worked together in unison, communicating silently with ease, and Stiles grabbed the first aid kit before sitting on the edge of his bed.

Peter said nothing while he cleaned the cut on Stiles’ cheek and the split in his lip, gently wiping over the cuts. It stung, but the sharp bite of pain was gone as soon as it formed, sucked away into the black vines crawling up Peter’s forearm—something else Stiles forced himself not to examine too closely. 

“Up,” he said softly, an echo of what he’d said earlier, and Stiles allowed himself to smile. 

He stood, swaying forward. Peter’s wide hand caught him, his fingers wrapping around Stiles’ hip. His heart rate surged, and he sucked his bottom lip into his mouth to distract himself from how close they were and how good Peter smelt.

Peter’s hands were gentle when they peeled his shirt off. He was too tired to feel insecure, but he did quip, “My eyes are up here, creeper wolf,” when he felt Peter’s eyes track over his torso. He fell silent when Peter  _ growled _ , his eyes flashing electric blue as his fingers skipped across Stiles’ belly. He shivered but still didn't move, watching Peter’s face while Peter watched him.

“I am going to kill him,” Peter said,  _ promised _ , his voice nothing more than a growl.

Stiles shivered, the truth of Peter’s words settling under his skin and making his entire body go loose as tension drained out of him. He allowed Peter to inspect his torso, standing still, arms at his sides. Peter’s fingers were warm when they trailed up his sides, fitting against his ribs before dragging back down and making Stiles shiver. 

He was so tired that when Peter’s fingers undid the button of his jeans, he couldn’t dredge up the energy to question him. Rather, he stepped out of his jeans when they fell to his ankles, taking his socks off with them. Stood in nothing but his boxers under Peter’s gaze, he felt nothing other than safe. 

When Peter stepped back, he shivered. Stiles hadn’t realized just how much warmth Peter gave off, the cold seeped in without him close. It was so easy, then, to climb into bed when Peter lifted up his covers, and he let out a shuddering breath when the man tucked him in. There was something taking root in his chest, something he didn’t want to name or call attention to, else he do something to disrupt its fragile warmth.

“Erica and Boyd are still in the basement,” Stiles whispered, though he quieted when Peter brushed his hair away from his forehead, fingers achingly gentle. 

“Don’t worry, love, I’ll make sure they’re safe,” Peter’s voice tumbled over him, and Stiles smiled softly as he let his exhaustion overwhelm him, confident Peter would handle everything, and watch over him as he slept.

**Author's Note:**

> comments and kudos are much appreciated!  
> [my dreamwidth](https://lavenderlotion.dreamwidth.org/) and my [my tumblr](https://lavender-lotion.tumblr.com/)


End file.
